Lonely Souls
by LemonStar
Summary: ..Enjolras/Éponine.. "Are you saying that you're actually interested in a girl?" Combeferre's eyes seemed to light up at the possibility. Enjolras merely glared at him. He didn't think the question warranted any type of response. Combeferre grinned. "So, if I was to say that the brunette with the red scarf just walked in, you wouldn't care?" **Repost**
1. Chapter 1

…

"_The power of a glance has been so much abused in love stories, that it has come to be disbelieved in. Few people dare now to say that two beings have fallen in love because they have looked at each other. Yet it is in this way that love begins, and in this way only."_

**1.**

Enjolras didn't normally consider himself to be a violent man.

He lost his temper occasionally though that was also rare. For the most part, he controlled himself in all situations and rarely expressed his feelings on any matter. He was passionate about the things he was interested in and loved but other than that, he was blank. A marble slate. And that was his greatest defense.

But right now, he wanted to do nothing more than punch Marius Pontmercy in the face in hopes that doing so would shut him up.

He was trying to study but Marius was going on and on about some girl who had just transferred to the university and just happened to be in the same British History class. Marius would not stop talking about this girl and how he was already in love with her. Today's gushing was of how she had asked him if she could borrow a pen and how their fingers had touched when he had handed her one. Hours later and he claimed that he could still feel his fingertips tingling.

Enjolras refrained from dropping his head down onto the table as Jean Prouvaire asked Marius another question about his so-called soul mate.

He knew he could just leave. No one was making him stay there.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. There was someone who he was waiting for; someone who each time the door to the coffee shop opened, his eyes would automatically look to see who had just entered, on the look-out for the girl with long dark brown hair and a red scarf wrapped around her neck.

He wasn't the sort to notice the opposite sex. He never had been.

But this particular girl, he already knew – he didn't know how but he just did and he was rarely ever wrong – that this one wasn't like others.

He wished he knew her name.

He saw her for the first time three nights earlier when the café was just about to close for the night. He had lost track of the time as he sat hunched over his usual table in the back, his eyes hurting but still reading the chapter in his law book. He had an exam the next day and he couldn't go back to his apartment to continue his studying there. Grantaire was sleeping on his couch for the next few days while his own apartment was fumigated and trying to do anything with Grantaire around besides drinking was near impossible.

Madame Hucheloup, the owner, called out to him that he had about ten more minutes as she began wiping down tables and he had nodded, turning to the next page in his book.

With seven minutes left, the door had suddenly swung open, bringing the cold and snow from outside in, and he lifted his eyes naturally to see who it was. It wasn't anyone he knew and normally, he would have just gone back to his studying and ignored her but something kept his eyes set on the new arrival. And then, she knocked the hood of her coat back from her head and shook her hair out.

He suddenly felt like everything was happening in slow motion.

He was staring, he knew. His mouth was even hanging slightly open and he knew that he probably looked like an idiot but he couldn't seem to stop himself.

She glanced in his direction before going to the counter. A red scarf was wrapped around her neck and her cheeks were red from the December winter outside. She ordered a hot chocolate from Madame Hucheloup, smiling as she did, and he forced his eyes down to his book again.

He didn't understand what was wrong with him. He was never the sort to gawk at girls. He left that to his other friends. He always had more important things to do than to flirt with and try and pick up girls in some sort of primitive dance that felt like quite a mystery to him.

His best friend, Combeferre, seemed to enjoy informing him that just because the opposite sex didn't seem to ever interest him, it didn't mean that the opposite sex didn't notice him. On more than one occasion, Grantaire had picked up several girls who had been staring openly at Enjolras by telling him that he was friends with the blonde-haired Apollo and he could get them closer if they wanted.

He lifted his eyes again when he heard the girl stand at the counter, waiting for her drink, humming a song to herself. Her back was turned towards him and he took the opportunity to look at her. Her hair was long and dark, slightly wavy and specks of melted snow glistening in the locks. Her coat was black and she had a pair of black and white Converse sneakers on her feet that would do nothing to protect them from the snow falling outside. The messenger bag on her shoulder, slung across her chest, was black as well and had a white button pinned to the front. He tried to read what it said but he was too far away.

She thanked Madame Hucheloup as she was handed her drink and took a careful sip.

"Enjolras, closing time!" The older woman shouted to him, effectively snapping him from his trance the girl had no idea she had cast on him.

She turned to leave and when she did, their eyes caught and locked together and instead of slow-motion, everything came to a sudden grinding halt. He stared at her and she stared at him and he didn't know what he was doing. He knew though that he didn't like it.

He forced himself to look away first.

He shouldn't even be looking.

He heard her footsteps and then seconds later, the door opened again and she was gone.

He released a deep breath that he hadn't even realized he was holding and Madame Hucheloup told him again that she was closing and he had to leave.

He tried to forget her.

The next day, he got up and made coffee and ate breakfast and tried to keep his patience when it came to Grantaire as he snored on the couch and his dirty clothes and empty bottles were all over the floor and furniture. He went to his classes and lectures and he didn't think of her at all. He, Combeferre and Courfeyrac then went for a quick dinner together before meeting the rest of their friends at Café Musain.

And being back there again, it was the first time of the day that he thought of her; that he allowed his mind to go to thoughts of a female. He had other things to think of. Classes and readings and an upcoming mock trial for one of his law classes and he has his newest cause. Fighting against the police's new initiative of homeless sweeps.

But she was starting to push through all of these thoughts and he didn't even know her name and he told himself to just forget it. He didn't have time for these thoughts.

He felt insane. He had only seen her one time. He hadn't even spoken to her and their eyes had locked for less than a minute.

He wasn't like this and he didn't like being like this.

He sat with his friends at their usual tables in the back of the café and he read his books and drank cups of coffee and ignored tried to ignore everything going on around him like he always did. He was in a seat against the back wall that just happened to face the rest of the café and had specifically, the front doors.

He glanced up each time the doors opened. He didn't mean to do it and when he realized that he was staring at every person walking in, he sighs with disgust at himself and finally, he slammed the book with annoyance. He couldn't concentrate here and he blamed her. This was why he stayed away from women in the most part. They were troublesome and distracting and he didn't have time for this.

He bid farewell to his friends and shoving his book into his bag, he slung it onto his shoulder and getting the rest of his coffee to go in a paper cup with a white lid. Outside, it was cold and gray and the wind was shifting up the Seine and it was going to snow again.

He sipped at his coffee and dug into his pocket when it dinged with receiving a new message. He stepped off towards the curb so he wasn't in the way of other pedestrians and unlocked his phone, seeing that it was Grantaire.

_I used the last roll of toilet paper._

And a second later,

_And you're out of Kleenex too._

Enjolras sighed heavily and slipped the phone back into his pocket. Grantaire was one of his closest friends but of his friends, Grantaire was also the one he wanted to kill the most.

"Shit!"

He didn't pay attention, stepping back from the curb into the sidewalk and he walked straight into a body. Thankfully, his coffee was almost gone and none of it spilled from the cup but the impact of the body against his sent him back a step. He looked to who he had knocked into and nearly froze.

It was her.

She was in the same black coat and wearing the red scarf and she was looking down, brushing her hands down the front of her clothes. He couldn't see her face but he knew it was her. The same white and black Converse sneakers. A hole in the thigh of her blue jeans. A red knit beanie cap on her head. The messenger bag slung across her chest.

He was close enough to see the button now and he recognized it as an Oscar Wilde quote.

"_Be yourself; everyone else is already taken."_

"I'm sorry," he finally was able to find his voice and she shook her head.

"It's okay. I'm still in one piece," she lifted her head, smiling, but when she saw his face, she sharply gasped.

She stared at him and he stared at her and the world kept rushing past them.

His phone dinged again in his pocket but he ignored it. It was probably just Grantaire again. She had the biggest eyes he had ever seen. Brown. They reminded him of the eyes of the does he would see when he and his parents would vacation outside of Paris and go to their home in the country for a few weeks in the summer.

He wanted to say something. He knew he had to say something. He had never been short of words and always knew what to say in any situation. But this situation was beyond him. This wasn't a situation he found himself in ever. He made sure he was never in this situation but here was this girl again and there were so many things he wanted to say but even as he opened his mouth, no words spilled out.

For the first time in his life, he was at a loss for words.

"Are you going to the café?" She asked, being the one to break the silence between them.

He shook his head and swallowed because suddenly, his throat felt as if he had just swallowed a mouthful of sawdust. "I just came from there," he held up his coffee cup. "I'm on my way home now."

"Oh," she said and her smile seemed to falter but he was pretty sure he was imagining it because then she was smiling again and it was blinding. "Maybe I'll see you there again sometime," she said and he had no words and could only nod his head. She gave him another smile and then she was walking past him.

It was only when he turned to watch her disappear along the other pedestrians did he finally realize that he should have asked her for her name.

…

He didn't see her for two days and for two nights, sitting in the café, he looked for her – though he admitted that only to himself and even then, he did so reluctantly. It was the only time he allowed himself to think of her.

During the day, so many other things vied for his mind's attention, there just simply wasn't the room in there for some girl, too. Some girl who's name he didn't even know. He didn't know anything about her other than she had a red scarf and seemed to like Oscar Wilde. Or maybe she just liked the quote.

He didn't know.

And he tried to convince himself that he didn't care.

He had been speaking with his professor after class and a quick question about the lecture had turned into an hour-long discussion. When he finally left the building where his class was, it wasn't even five o'clock but the winter sun was nearly completely set, the campus street lights flickering on and shining down onto the sidewalks with evenly spaced balls of warm light every few feet.

He bypassed the library and instead of turning left at the corner that would take him back to his apartment, he turned right and headed towards the café. The wind was frigid and biting as it blew and he began to walk a little bit faster. He needed something warm – fast – and his stomach was running on fumes, too. He hadn't eaten since his bowl of cereal that morning for breakfast and he was lucky to get that at all. Grantaire was still living on his couch and was eating everything in his kitchen.

He made a mental note to himself to pick up another box of cereal and hide it in his bedroom away from Grantaire.

When he arrived at the café, Joly and Combeferre were sitting at a table, notes from one of their classes spread out around them and Combeferre saw him and waved him over. Enjolras nodded and held up a finger, going first to the counter to place his order. Coffee – black – and a blueberry muffin for dinner.

He looked around the café – slightly crowded – but he didn't see a girl with dark hair or a red scarf.

He shook his head at himself. What the hell was he doing?

With his drink and muffin, he headed towards his two friends and nodded his head at them as he sat down and they continued studying. Combeferre and Joly were both medical students and if any of their friends studied almost as much as Enjolras, it would be them but when he sat down, Combeferre looked up from his flashcards to look at Enjolras.

Enjolras glanced at him from over the rim of his coffee cup as he sipped. He ignored him for the time being and looked around at the other tables. Some were filled with people he recognized. Fellow regulars of Café Musain though he knew them by face only and not name. Other students from the university were there, studying, or talking and joking around. A man was sitting on a stool in the corner, tuning his guitar, and Enjolras frowned to himself. He hated the nights the café had live music. Too loud and too distracting and rarely was it ever actually enjoyable.

He took another sip of coffee and silently looked at Combeferre as his best friend continued watching him, amusement in his eyes as if he was bursting with a joke and all he was waiting for was Enjolras to start and say "Knock, knock."

He didn't, however, and breaking off a piece of the muffin, he looked away again and looked to the doors. They opened and someone walked in, a hood pulled over their head. He sat up a little straighter, looking with a bit more interest, but when the person knocked the hood back, he saw that it was a girl with red hair and not dark brown. She wasn't wearing a scarf anyway and he looked back towards the table, taking a sip of his coffee.

"What?" He finally sighed.

"Waiting for someone?" Joly was the one to ask, smiling wildly.

Enjolras looked at him, chewing on a mouthful of muffin. "No," he shook his head. "Are you two expecting someone?"

"We're not the ones staring at the door," Combeferre spoke up, grinning.

Enjolras frowned at both of them and took another sip of coffee. "I don't know what you're talking about," he then shook his head.

"You're waiting for someone to show up," Joly told him, almost gleeful.

"Is it a girl? Are you saying that you're actually interested in a girl?" Combeferre's eyes seemed to light up at the possibility.

Enjolras merely glared at him. He didn't think the question warranted any type of response.

Combeferre grinned. "So, if I was to say that the brunette with the red scarf just walked in, you wouldn't care?"

Enjolras instantly turned his head towards the order counter but Combeferre's laughter made him swear at both himself and his best friend. He couldn't believe that he had just fallen for that.

He turned his eyes and gave both Combeferre and Joly a set glare that their friends had always said could turn fire to ice. Joly's laughter seemed to cease immediately but Combeferre, who had known Enjolras for the longest, only smiled and shook his head.

"How do you even know about her?" Enjolras asked.

"So there really is a her?" Joly asked, genuinely surprised.

Enjolras ignored him and kept his eyes on Combeferre.

Combeferre wasn't afraid. He and Enjolras had known one another for too long – ever since they were young boys and attending the same social parties with their parents and would sneak off together, bored out of their minds – for him to be afraid of Enjolras' stare.

"Jean Prouvaire heard you ask Madame Hucheloup about her," Combeferre explained.

Enjolras sighed heavily. Jean Prouvaire had overheard and he probably had it in his too-romantic mind now that he and the mystery girl were destined to be together.

He was probably writing a poem about them right now.

The guy in the corner stopped tuning his guitar and strummed the strings.

Enjolras quickly drained the rest of his coffee. He was going to have to get out of here. He had studying to do and while studying in the café was a bit of a challenge, studying with a person playing an instrument and wailing in the corner was all but impossible.

"I'm sorry," the guy spoke into the microphone. "My singing partner is running a bit late."

"No, she's not!" Someone exclaimed from the door, rushing into the café, and Enjolras nearly dropped his – thankfully empty – cup.

It was her. The dark hair. The Converse sneakers. The red scarf.

He couldn't help but sit up in his chair at the sight of her, not even hearing Combeferre snickering next to him.

"I'm so sorry," the brunette told the guy who just smiled and leaned back into the microphone.

"I'm normally a solo act but tonight, I've asked my very good friend, the so very lovely, Éponine Thénardier, to help me."

Éponine Thénardier.

Finally. He had her name. He rolled it around his mind a few times. Éponine Thénardier.

He couldn't stop staring at her. Why couldn't he stop staring at her? What was she doing to him? If he was smart – and he considered himself to be – he would just leave right now and forget about her. He would force himself to. He had gone this long without being distracted by girls and he could forget this one and go again. Women turned men into idiots. They were emotional and irrational and Enjolras had too much going on to allow one near him.

Éponine took off her coat and tossed it into the corner on top of the guitar case but she left the red scarf wrapped around her neck. She cleared her throat and then smiled out at the café as she stood in front of the microphone. The guy began playing the guitar and Enjolras told himself to leave before she began singing. Too late.

Éponine opened her mouth and her lips were to the microphone and she began to sing, her voice like a siren's pulling him in from sea.

_I've seen the world,  
Done it all, had my cake now.  
Diamonds, brilliant, and Bel-Air now.  
Hot summer nights mid July,  
When you and I were forever wild.  
The crazy days, the city lights,  
The way you'd play with me like a child._

_Will you still love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful?  
Will you still love me when I got nothing but my aching soul?  
I know you will, I know you will,  
I know that you will.  
Will you still love me when I'm no longer beautiful?_

Enjolras couldn't take it.

He stood up so suddenly, his chair nearly toppled over. He hadn't taken off his coat and he grabbed his bag from the floor. Combeferre said something but Enjolras couldn't hear him over the music and the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears.

Without looking at him or Joly, and certainly without looking at the brunette at the microphone, he began heading towards the doors. He would go to the library and study for a few hours and then he would go home and collapse in bed and not dream about anything. He told himself this rather harshly. The last thing he needed right now were distractions of any kind.

He suddenly heard Éponine gasp into the microphone and he naturally looked over to see what was going on. She was staring directly at him, her eyes wide, and Enjolras wasn't quite sure what to do because now others in the café were following her line of sight and were looking at him curiously.

He normally loved being the center of attention. He thrived on it. When he gave his speeches, and the crowds were listening, holding their breathes before exploding into cheers, there was no greater rush of adrenaline for him than that. He was used to have people look at him.

But nothing quite like this.

He wasn't quite sure what to do so he didn't do anything. He simply turned and pushed open the café's door, stepping outside.

"Wait!"

He had almost made it to the street corner when the voice called out behind him. He told himself to keep walking but as if it had been for the past few days, he wasn't really listening to his brain at the moment. He turned around and saw her – Éponine – rushing towards him. He frowned at her deeply when he saw that she wasn't wearing her coat.

"What?" She asked when she saw the frown.

"You're going to freeze," he informed her.

She shook her head as if she could have cared less. "Why did you leave?"

"I have to study."

He couldn't seem to bring himself to stop frowning at her. She was looking up at him and he saw that when she smiled, she had dimples in her cheeks. His frown only dropped more when he noticed them. He shouldn't be surprised that she had dimples. She seemed to be the kind of girl who would. So first her long hair and her red scarf and now her dimples.

He had to go. He couldn't stand here with her any longer.

He took a step back, glancing over his shoulder as if searching for an escape route.

"What do you study?" She asked.

"I'm in law school," he responded, glancing at her before lowering his eyes to the ground.

He didn't feel absolutely comfortable looking directly into her eyes. Staring at and watching her when she didn't know was one thing but actually looking into her eyes while her own eyes were staring into his, it was unsettling and not something he was comfortable with.

"I'm Éponine," she then extended her right hand towards him.

He paused for a moment and then sighing to himself, he reached out and shook her hand.

"Enjolras."

"Enjolras," she then tested it on her tongue. She smiled at him, trying to meet his eyes.

Her hand was smooth and cold and he felt her fingers squeeze around his hand before he abruptly pulled it from her grasp. He put both of his hands in his pockets and she kept smiling. He wondered why she was smiling so much.

"Don't you have to go back and sing with that man?" He asked.

She still kept smiling and shook her head. "That's Victor. He's in my still-life class."

"Still-life? Are you an art student?" He asked though he cursed himself for doing so. He was trying to get this girl from his mind; not embed her deeper.

She seemed to beam up at him. "I am," she nodded. "I concentrate mostly in photography. I actually have a show this weekend at a small gallery. You should come."

"I don't think so," he shook his head without thinking it through. "I usually volunteer at a law center on weekends. You're shivering."

Her smile faltered and finally, it completely disappeared. "I'm sorry. I thought…" she trailed off with a shake of her head. "I must have been wrong. I'm sorry. Good night," she said and then turned, walking back towards the café without sparing him another glance.

He took a step in her direction, his mouth open and ready to say something, but once again, all words had seemed to flee his mind and he wasn't sure what to say; if anything should be said. He exhaled a breath.

Éponine.

He said her name silently to himself as he turned and began the walk again towards the library. Her said her name and thought of her dimples. He wondered what she photographed. He wasn't going to go see for himself though.

He really did have things to do – he wasn't just telling her that as an excuse not to go – and even if he was able to go, he wouldn't want to.

She was invading his life too much already.

She was dangerous and intoxicating and he would avoid the café for the next few days.

Éponine.

Her name was beautiful just like her.

He groaned at himself for such a thought and kept his eye out as he walked.

Maybe he would pass by another coffee shop that could replace the Café Musain.

…

* * *

_A/N: **Reposting** Please read and comment. It really would mean a lot to me. Thank you!_


	2. Chapter 2

…

"Not being heard is no reason for silence."

**2. **

"It looks beautiful, Éponine," Cosette smiled as she turned in a circle in the middle of the small gallery. "Really beautiful."

Éponine tried to take a series of deep breaths as she went over the refreshment table. Plates of fresh strawberries and grapes, cheeses and crackers and a cooler of bottles of water and empty flute glasses, ready to be filled from bottles of champagne that the gallery had provided. She had to remember to thank Courfeyrac's parents again. They were the owners of the art gallery – as well as several others around the city – and they were giving her this opportunity; mainly because Courfeyrac had spoken so highly of her photos.

She felt like she was going to throw up. This was her first show other than having her photos hanging in the university's student union on a wall hardly any students looked at.

What if no one came? Or worse yet, what if people came but found her to possess no talent?

She had been little, just four, when she had possessed her first camera. A guest had accidentally forgotten a cheap disposal camera in one of the rooms at the motel her father had owned at the time and her mother – who had loved her at a time – had shown her how to work it. There were quite a few pictures remaining and Éponine had snapped happily away, taking pictures of coffee cups and the patterns of the carpet and the stains on the ceilings of the rooms.

When her father had developed the camera for her, they had discovered the man who had forgotten it had been taking rather lewd pictures of his naked reflection but Éponine hadn't cared because the pictures she had taken, in her eyes, were all so wonderful and from that time on, she was completely in love with photography and taking her own pictures.

She would look at photos from others in art books she had taken from the library and she couldn't quite believe what she was looking at. Through most of them, the world looked to be such a beautiful place. She had never seen a world like that.

She took pictures of what she saw everyday. She shoplifted cameras from stores and learned how to develop her own prints in the school's dark room. She took every photography class that was offered and borrowed the school's cameras and smiled to herself as her teachers told her that she had a true, raw talent.

When she graduated and had to work two jobs just to barely pay tuition, she took not only photography but as many art classes as she could.

She knew it was the only thing she was good at and she was determined to study it and use it to make something of herself other than what her father had in mind. She may have been a Thénardier but she could be honest. For the most part. At least she told herself.

She thought something was wrong with her – that she didn't see the beauty in the world that so many others seemed to. For graduating from high school, her sometimes boyfriend, Montparnasse, had stolen her a camera for a present and she had snapped pictures until her finger hurt.

But she took pictures of the neighborhood she grew up in after her father lost the motel. The slums, the crumbling buildings, people sleeping in doorways and in stairwells, children running around without shoes and coats, people in abandoned rooms, shooting their veins of drugs, people crowded around fires in trashcans for warmth.

Her world wasn't beautiful but her professors seemed to love it and go crazy because of it.

The pictures hanging in the gallery tonight, she had spent endless days choosing them; pouring over her entire collection and choosing twenty that would make up her show.

And the boy, more of a man, Enjolras was in one.

That was another reason why she hadn't been able to stop staring at him. He was in the only picture that didn't show her usual world. He was the only picture that showed that maybe there was light in something after all.

And she had taken it before she even knew him.

Not that she knew him now. She knew the barest of facts. His name and that he was in law school, studying to become a lawyer.

She had wanted to know more. Not just because she had taken his picture months before and recognized him from that but because in the Café Musain, when it had been just about to close and she had rushed in for a last-minute hot chocolate, he had been there and their eyes had locked and she had felt a warmth spread over her despite the single digit temperature outside. He had stared at her and for the first time in her life, she had stared back and felt something towards him that she had never felt before.

She didn't even know how to describe it because it had never happened before and she had no idea what it had even been.

The way he had spoken to her though and acted as if he wanted to be anywhere else than on the street corner speaking with her, she knew that he hadn't felt anything; that it had been in her mind only and she walked away from him, feeling as if she was an idiot and was absolutely insane.

But, two days later, she still couldn't stop thinking about him.

Enjolras.

One of those boys who went by their last name. She knew boys like that. Boys trying to be much more grown up than they actually were.

But she thought of Enjolras – tall and lean yet built beneath his clothes and with a firm, sharp jaw that could cut rock.

Enjolras was definitely already a man.

"Alright," Cosette pulled her from her thoughts. "We have two hours before people start arriving so we have to go home and get ready. Did you really invite Marius tonight?"

Éponine tried not to roll her eyes as they left the gallery and began the walk back in the direction of their shared apartment.

"Yes, I already told you. He is Courfeyrac's roommate and I've known them both since freshmen year. They are both coming tonight," Éponine assured her.

Cosette had just transferred to the university from an all-girls university her father had had her enrolled in. Éponine knew Monsieur Leblanc and she still didn't know how Cosette had convinced her rather stern father to send her to a coed school but Cosette had a way about her that Éponine had never possessed. Cosette, with her blonde hair and big blue eyes and almost angelic, innocent appearance, she could make most people crumble to her whim with just a soft smile.

The two had known one another, growing up together in the same neighborhood. Even as a young girl of eight, Éponine already knew that Cosette was not meant for a life on those streets and took care of her as she cared for her younger siblings. And when Cosette and her father moved away to Paris, the two remained friends through letters since neither had access to a computer except at school.

When Cosette told her that she was going to start attending the same university, Éponine was quick to invite her to become roommates. Not only so the two old, close friends could live together but any help with the rent was welcome. With the salaries of her two jobs going mostly to school, there hardly seemed to ever be much leftover.

"Oh goodness, I won't know what to say to him if he does come tonight," Cosette began to breathe a bit quicker as if just the thought was enough to scare her.

Éponine tried her hardest once again to not roll her eyes.

She and Marius were friends. Good friends. She had met him and Courfeyrac during their freshmen year and had grown close with one another, often spending all of their free time together. But their senior year had somewhat distanced them.

Courfeyrac and Marius were both applying to law schools and studying even harder. She wondered what law school Enjolras attended.

Okay, Éponine, she scolded herself. It was really time to stop thinking about him.

Their time spent together was becoming less and less.

They had school and endless studying and she had her own classes and with two jobs and her photography. She was looking forward to seeing them tonight.

She didn't understand Cosette's infatuation with Marius. Perhaps it was just Éponine had known him since he was eighteen and a bit awkward but he was a bit too "soft" for her.

She liked him, of course. As a brother, a close friend, but when Cosette started telling her that she had seen him in her history class and that he was her soul mate, Éponine tried not to vomit and keep her confusion to herself.

Of every guy on campus that Cosette could probably get, she wanted Marius.

"_You should come."_

"_I don't think so."_

She didn't even know him and yet, his response had stung her.

Since meeting his eyes in the Café Musain that night, she hadn't been able to stop thinking of him and she had thought that he hadn't been able to stop thinking about her either since he had been staring right back.

She yelled at herself to stop thinking about him. She had never thought of someone of the opposite sex for so long. Not even Montparnasse and they had had something of a relationship in one way or another since she was thirteen.

But in all those years, she had never thought she was in love with Montparnasse.

Not that she was in love with Enjolras.

It was completely ridiculous to even have him and love in the same thought. She didn't know him. She had only seen him a couple of times; had spoken with him just once – and it hadn't gone that well.

She couldn't roll her eyes at Cosette and Marius if she was thinking of love and a complete stranger. Love at first sight didn't exist. Two people didn't fall in love with just one look. This wasn't some movie or one of the romance novels she was guilty of occasionally reading. Something like that didn't happen – especially to someone like her.

Love at first sight was too nice and too good and it didn't have a place in her world.

…

* * *

The gallery was crowded and she had to thank Courfeyrac's parents for the people because she knew that most of them there that night were there just because it was their gallery.

She knew that didn't matter though. There were people there, eating strawberries and cheeses and drinking champagne and looking at her photos. And most importantly, no one was laughing as they looked.

She stood with Courfeyrac, too nervous to eat but never to not drink and they both were on their third glasses of champagne.

"I'm going to buy one," Courfeyrac announced to her.

"Why?" Éponine laughed. "I could just give you one from my dark lab for free."

"True, but, I want to be the first to buy an original Éponine Thénardier," he grinned.

"You're drunk," she laughed again.

Courfeyrac was sober enough to look offended at the suggestion.

"I'm afraid you're too late, Michel," Madame Courfeyrac appeared behind them. "Éponine, dear, someone just bought one of your photos."

All laugher was instantly wiped from her face.

"They did?" Her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open as she blinked wordlessly at the older woman. "But… they did?"

Madame Courfeyrac did her best not to laugh. "Yes, dear, and that's a good thing," she reminded her son's close friend. "Come. I'll introduce you. He deserves to meet the talent. Michel, that's enough," she took the flute glass from her son's hand and Courfeyrac stuck out his bottom lip in a dramatic pout as if he was five-years-old.

Suddenly, Éponine felt sick to her stomach.

Madame Courfeyrac was right, of course.

It was an artist's goal not to be starving all of the time and for people to like their work and buy it but she had never thought that it would happen to her. Even tonight, having her own show in a gallery, she never actually thought that anyone would buy any of her photos.

Who would ever actually buy one of her photos?

She nervously tucked strands of her dark brown hair behind her ears as Madame Courfeyrac looped her arm through hers and began to guide her through the crowd. Cosette had wanted to put her hair up for the night but Éponine had wanted it down. She almost always wore it down. Her face looked too round and full when her hair was pulled back.

"Here he is," Madame Courfeyrac smiled and Éponine gasped.

Enjolras was standing next to one of the 8x10 black and white photos, a green round sticker next to it to indicate that it had been purchased. It wasn't the photo she had snapped of him however. Instead, it was one of a group of people standing outside one of the neighborhood soup kitchens.

He nodded his head to her. "Ms. Thénardier."

"Oh, you two know one another?" Madame Courfeyrac asked.

Éponine couldn't speak. Her throat was too dry and she desperately wanted to start coughing to clear it but she couldn't even tell herself to do that. She could only stare.

"We've met briefly before," Enjolras answered.

"I'm so glad you came tonight, Enjolras, and thank you so much for your purchase," Madame Courfeyrac smiled at him while giving a curious glance to Éponine.

"Yes, thank you," Éponine finally found her voice.

Enjolras nodded again. "Money well spent."

Madame Courfeyrac looked back and forth between them, smiling to herself, and then she casually slipped away, leaving the two of them alone.

"You said you weren't going to come," Éponine reminded him.

He shrugged. "I didn't think I would have time. But my friends insist I find the time."

She felt something fall within her and she hated that it had been lifted at all in the first place. He didn't even want to be there. His friends had practically dragged him.

She forced a smile. "Thank you for buying one of my photos. You didn't have to do that."

She noted that he was staring at her rather intently and it gave her twists in her stomach.

"I saw the one of me," he said. "But I preferred this one."

She felt color rise in her cheeks. "I saw you one night, at the café, studying, and you were so engrossed in your books. Nothing else existed to you."

_And you were so beautiful_.

But she chose to keep that thought to herself.

"And this one?" He changed the subject briskly, obviously not wanting to discuss himself. He looked to the photo he had bought. "You've studied Jacob Riis, I assume."

She nodded. "He was one of the first photographers I found who showed me that not all of the world is beautiful. I already knew that and finally, I found a photographer who knew it, too. His photos showed me that I didn't have to take pictures of waterfalls and flowers."

"You have talent."

"You sound surprised."

He shook his head. "I'm not. Courfeyrac has told me all about you."

She frowned. "How do you know Courfeyrac?" She wondered.

"His parents and mine are friends and Courfeyrac is applying to the same law school I attend. I have been helping him and Marius Pontmercy study. I found out you were one of his close friends."

"Why did you buy my photo?" It was her turn to change the subject.

"You take pictures of things not everyone likes to see," he simply said.

He moved away from the soup kitchen photo to look at the one next to it and she found herself stepping with and standing with him.

"Like this one," he stated, staring at the photo of a man crouched in a doorway, holding a needle to his arm. "I might buy this one, too. Most of the people in here tonight don't even like to think about or acknowledge that places like this exist in Paris."

"Aren't you one of these people?" She asked.

He shook his head, moving his eyes from the picture to her. "I might have grown up with them but I'm not one of them."

"Poor little rich boy," she muttered under her breath.

"What?" He asked and she lifted her eyes to see that he was frowning at her. He obviously had overheard her comment but Éponine found that she didn't really care if he had or not.

She now understood who he was. She had seen boys like him before and they were very much boys. Boys who grew up with every luxury and opportunity in the world but who wanted to "slum" it because they thought it made them more interesting or dangerous. Most realized that they didn't like living like it and most couldn't handle most of what came with being poor.

The knots in her stomach completely disappeared and she was able to look him in the eye now without difficulty.

"Thank you for buying my photograph, Enjolras. Excuse me, though. I really must talk with other people here," she said but as she began to step away, his hand shot up and grabbed her elbow.

She gasped again but not because he had grabbed her and was now touching her but because his fingers were so warm on her skin.

The knots were slowly returning.

"Forgive me," he took her gasp to mean something else and his hand dropped away from her. "Have I said something to offend you?" He asked.

"No," she shook her head. "You haven't offended me."

"But you're upset about something."

"Does it matter if I am or not?"

"I think that it does," he nodded. "What did I do?"

"Nothing," she shook her head again. "Nothing at all. I just know your type and I'm honestly not very interested in it."

"My type?" He was frowning now, confused, his eyebrows furrowed together in wrinkles.

"Thank you _so _much for all of your help, Monsieur Enjolras. I have no idea how any of us got along before you decided to grace our neighborhood with your presence," she said with the utmost fake enthusiasm. "And now, you can return to your home in the 16th arrondissement and we'll return to our hovels and we'll see you eagerly again when you decide you need to fulfill another good deed."

Enjolras looked completely shocked and he opened his mouth to respond to her but no sound was able to come out and this time, when she turned and walked away from him, he didn't stop her.

She felt a prick on the back of her neck and she almost went back to apologize but she knew that she was right and why should she tell him that she was sorry just for telling the truth?

She went to the refreshment table to get a strawberry, almost bumping into a young man with curly black hair and holding two flute glasses of champagne – one in each hand. He looked at her and smiled and there was something so genuine and friendly about it, she couldn't help but smile in return.

"You certainly let him have it," he chuckled before taking a swig from one of the glasses.

"Let who have what?"

"Enjolras," he elaborated.

"You heard that?"

"I think most of the gallery did," he laughed a bit more and finishing one glass of champagne, he reached for another on the table, holding two once again.

Éponine glanced back to where Enjolras had been standing but he was no longer there. She shouldn't have said those things to him.

"I'm Grantaire," he then said, unable to offer her his hand since he didn't want to put down either of his glasses.

"Éponine," she smiled.

He nodded. "Enjolras has been talking about you."

That was all it took for her eyes to double in size. "Me?" She sputtered.

He grinned. "Well, Enjolras actually doesn't talk that much so he's been talking about you as much as Enjolras talks about anything."

"Me?" She asked again.

"You," Grantaire nodded. "He made sure that he was able to come tonight."

"He told me that he volunteered in some law office and wouldn't be able to make it," Éponine said, now thoroughly confused.

"Well, of course that was what he said," Grantaire smirked.

"Éponine!" Cosette exclaimed suddenly, rushing towards her. "You sold another one!"

"Which one?" Éponine's stomach began to sink.

"That one of the guy shooting up," Cosette shuddered. That wasn't her favorite photo.

"Did you see who bought it?" Éponine asked though she didn't want to know the answer.

"That blond guy you were talking to," Cosette then smiled. "Who was that guy, by the way?"

Éponine looked to Grantaire and he was grinning at her. She tried to ignore him and looked back to Cosette. "Did he leave?" She asked.

"I think so," Cosette's smile slowly faded as she began to frown, growing confused, looking at her friend.

Éponine looked around the gallery but there were too many people and she couldn't see him through the crowd.

She looked to Cosette again. "Did you see which way he went?"

…

* * *

_A/N: Thank you so much to those who read and took the time to comment on the first chapter. If you read this chapter, please comment. Thank you so much! And to everyone who celebrates, Happy 4th of July!_


	3. Chapter 3

...

_"Laughter is sunshine, it chases winter from the human face."_

**3.**

"Another refill, Enjolras?" Madame Hucheloup asked, coming up to his table with a freshly brewed pot of coffee.

Enjolras lifted his head from the book he was reading and without a word, he nodded and pushed his empty cup across the table towards her. When she filled it once more, he gave her a nod of his head.

"Thank you," he said and she moved to the next table of patrons.

He dropped his eyes back down to the book in his hands though he wasn't really reading it. His eyes couldn't seem to focus on the words in front of him and his brain couldn't process the words he was struggling to read. He shook his head at himself and taking a sip from his coffee, he forced himself to try and continue to read.

After leaving the gallery, instead of going home, Enjolras had walked to the Café Musain and sat at his usual table off to the side, near the back. He always had a book with him and he had pulled the paperback from his coat pocket and tried to read though at least one chapter but he couldn't get his mind clear.

He wasn't sure why he was so bothered by what Éponine had said. It shouldn't have mattered. He was used to people not liking him. His parents and Combeferre often told him that he could be rather cold. He cared for others and their wellbeing and wanted the best for them – willing to fight for it – but he didn't like to allow himself any type of closeness. Most found him to be rather rude and taking his distance as indifference.

And normally, that didn't bother him. He preferred it.

But for some reason, he wasn't able to stop thinking of Éponine. Ever since their eyes locked that evening in the café, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about her. He thought of a few nights earlier when she had smiled at him and wanted to clearly talk with him and invited him to her gallery show.

And he had done what he normally did and acted as if he had much more important things to do. And he did – for a time. He volunteered at a law center in the 18th arrondissement and spent as much time there as he could, helping and offering his services to those who came in, seeking legal advice.

He couldn't shake the biting remarks Éponine had made to him in the gallery.

She had seemed angry with him and he had no idea why. He had bought two of her photographs and had been enjoying speaking with her – and he often found speaking one-on-one with a person to be such a chore.

But with her, he had found himself not wanting the conversation to end.

He had done something to anger or offend her or perhaps both. He couldn't figure out what it was though. He had thought that she had been enjoying his company as well.

Enjolras frowned as he brought his coffee cup to his lips. He hated being wrong.

He thought of the two photographs of hers that he had purchased. He would be able to pick them up from the gallery tomorrow and he was already thinking of places to hang them. She had such talent and he was looking forward to it if she was to have another show. She saw things that nearly no one else did; she saw things that he was passionate about in trying to help and change.

Apparently though, that was something about him that bothered her.

He sighed heavily and sipping his coffee, his eyes tried to focus on the book again.

It happened within seconds.

The café door opened, the cold wind from outside rushed in, there was a rustle of clothing and then the chair across from him was pulled out. Éponine plopped down in the seat across from him, out of breath and her cheeks flushed from the cold. For a moment, Enjolras stared at her, wondering if he was now hallucinating.

He didn't say anything and only blinked at her.

"Yes?" He finally said with a raised eyebrow.

"Thank you for buying two of my photographs," she said on an exhale of breath.

That was why she had come bursting into the café? To thank him? He looked at her for a moment and then gave her a nod of his head.

"You're welcome."

She was quiet after that and he waited for another moment, not sure if she was going to speak, and then slowly, he lowered his eyes back to his book but now, he certainly couldn't concentrate.

He was very aware of her. She was looking at him and he fought his eyes from looking at her again. Her hair was falling down from the up-do she had had it pulled into at the gallery; strands loosening and brushing along her cheeks and jaw. She wore a dress that evening – red – but she had taken of the heels she had worn and now wore her black and white Converse sneakers again. She must have had those at the gallery with her.

He lifted his eyes, having just read the same word at least five times – a one-syllable word, he was embarrassed to point out to himself – and he looked at her again.

She was looking at him and she didn't look away when he lifted his head and his eyes met hers. She smiled softly and Enjolras wasn't sure why but the corners of his mouth nearly twitched in his own smile before he got himself under control.

He didn't smile frequently and he wasn't going to smile now not matter how badly his lips clearly wanted him to.

She was a confusing sort of woman but then, weren't most women? He assumed so and that was just one reason why he stayed away from them.

Just not even an hour before, in the gallery, she had snapped at him and frowned as if he had caused some great offense but even now, an hour later, he still didn't know what he had done to warrant her change in mood towards him and now, once again, she was smiling at him as if nothing had happened.

For a moment, he even considered talking to Courfeyrac about this. He always seemed to be with a different girl and even seemed to have a queue of them all waiting his turn. There was obviously something about the female gender that he seemed to understand. And also, he was one of Éponine's closest friends. Perhaps he could explain her mood changes to him.

He nearly shook his head at himself. He talked as if he expected himself to be with Éponine in any sort of capacity to be victim to her mood changes past tonight.

"What are you reading?" She asked him, suddenly breaking the silence between them as if taking a sharp pick to a sheet of ice and cracking it down the middle. "Something for school?"

He shook his head. "Something for leisure." He then tilted the front of the book back so she could see the cover.

"You've read it more than once," she noted and he must have frowned because she laughed a little. "That copy has certainly seen better days."

He allowed himself a small smirk because it was true. The paperback had been in his possession for years and had definitely seen better days. He had read it so many times, the spine was cracked over and over again and some of the pages were nearly falling out. A lot of pages were dog-eared so he could easily find his favorite passages and many lines were either underlined with his pen or highlighted in yellow.

"Can you read me something from it?" She asked and he looked at her for a moment, not so much finding it to be an odd request but he still couldn't figure out her sudden mood change towards him. She smiled and it was small – he didn't know if she was embarrassed or shy but thinking as this girl in front of him as shy seemed rather far-fetched.

Enjolras cleared his throat and leaned into the table, bending the book over in half so he could hold it easily in one hand. His other hand went to his cup, as if he was going to sip from it, but he made no move to lift it to his lips.

Éponine leaned closer into the table as well as if he was about to indulge some great secret to her that she didn't want to miss a word of.

"Was he happy? One would ask that question in vain. A question like this makes sense only when applied to creatures who are rich in alternative possibilities, so that the actual truth can be contrasted with partly real probabilities and reflect itself in them," he read in a low, yet clear and steady voice.

When he was finished, he lifted his eyes and saw that Éponine was staring at him.

For having such big eyes, it was impossible to figure out what she was thinking. It was a skill he, himself, possessed. People had tried to read his mind and his thoughts but they were always shut out like a portcullis outside a castle, never able to scale the walls. It was a skill he had worked on for years and had finally perfected and it was a skill she seemed to have as well and he found himself on the outside, wondering what she was thinking.

"I'm… sorry. About what I said to you in the gallery," she then said and he got a sudden feeling that with her, she wasn't the sort to offer apologies often.

"What did I do?" He then found himself asking.

She shook her head. "Nothing specific. I'm just used to guys like you."

"Guys like me?" He echoed with a raised eyebrow.

She shrugged. "Guys who say they want to change the world and then do nothing about it. Giants who turn out to be just like every other man."

Enjolras looked at her. She had a past. That much was obvious. She had had a boy – or several – and it seemed as if they had all disappointed her in one way or another.

He had no idea why but he suddenly wanted to prove to her that he wasn't like those earlier boys. Why would he even care about that?

"I've willingly volunteered at a law center in the 18th arrondissement for nearly four years now," he said as if in defense of himself but he still spoke quietly, as if she was a bird he didn't want to startle away with too much noise.

He knew he didn't want her to leave – another confusing thought but this one, he just pushed from his mind and chose to ignore it completely.

"I'm sorry," she said again and this time, she said it stronger and firmer. She seemed to have gotten used to the foreign statement on her tongue.

He was quiet for a moment. "You didn't have to leave the gallery to tell me that."

She was quiet for her own minute. Madame Hucheloup came up to their table, refilling Enjolras' cup though he had barely drank half of the last refill.

"Anything for you, Éponine?" The older woman asked.

"No, thank you," Éponine smiled up at her politely. "I'm not going to be staying."

Enjolras pretended that he hadn't even heard as he sipped from the cup and lowered his eyes to his book again. And if he had heard her – which he had, quite clearly – he acted as if it didn't matter to him whether she stayed or left.

When Madame Hucheloup left their table, he felt Éponine looking at him. He, once again, pretended to be absorbed in his book.

"Do you want to get out of here?" She asked him suddenly.

"Back to the gallery?" He closed his book but kept mark of his page with his thumb.

She shook her. "I'm done there. I thanked Monsieur and Madame Courfeyrac and then went out to find you." She said all of this quite casually and like it wasn't any sort of deal at all.

Enjolras found himself at a loss for words. This was becoming a common occurrence when around Éponine, it would seem.

"I just want to get out of here. We're young, it's not too late, Paris is spread at our feet," she was smiling, already moving to the edge of her seat to stand up. "Please come with me."

Enjolras hesitated for only a moment before he closed his book completely and slid the worn paperback into his coat pocket. Éponine beamed and he felt his lips twitch again.

She let out a little laugh. "You will smile by the end of the night," she then said.

"I will?" He raised an eyebrow at that.

She laughed again and he nearly smiled just from her laugh. He wouldn't imagine someone who saw the world as she did to have such a light laugh.

She surprised him – and she seemed to surprised herself – when she boldly reached across the table and her finger found one of the lines on the side of his mouth.

"You frown too much," she stated.

Their eyes locked and they stared at one another much like they had that first night in the café when it had been just them.

He normally didn't like anyone touching him. Even his own mother and father got the stiffest of hugs from him when he returned home for a few days' visit. He just always liked his own space. And when Éponine touched him, he expected himself to have the same reaction as he always did to such gestures.

But there was no stiffness or flinching. He could only look at her and watch her.

"I don't mean to," he said instead. "It's just how my mouth naturally rests."

She smiled at that and slowly, she removed her finger from his face. "Where do you want to go tonight?" She asked him, taking his coffee cup and he watched as she helped herself to a sip, her eyes still looking at him from over the rim and seeming to smile.

"I have class tomorrow morning," he felt the need to tell her.

"Me, too," she nodded. She set his cup back down and smiled. She seemed much more at ease than when she first arrived to sit at his table. "Are you still coming?" She then asked him with an arched eyebrow and what he could only interpret to be a mischievous smile.

She stood up from the table and looked at him, either waiting for him or waiting to leave alone.

Enjolras hesitated. He had class in the morning. A nine o'clock lecture and he wasn't one to miss a class. Ever. He wasn't the sort to stay out all night when he had obligations and responsibilities the next day. And he always had something the next day.

What would this night with Éponine bring? He had a feeling that if he went with her, he was going to embark on a night he had never had before.

"Are you afraid?" She asked, clearly teasing him but his frown to her was heavy towards her nonetheless. She laughed softly and then held out her hand for him to take.

She didn't say anything. She just stood there, waiting for him to make any type of decision.

Enjolras didn't know what was taking him so long. He knew what moment this was. This was one of those moments Jean Prouvaire often spoke of and Enjolras always acted as if wasn't listening. This was the moment that, if he didn't go with her, he would forever regret it and wonder about it for the rest of his life.

This was _the_ moment.

He hadn't been able to stop thinking about her since their eyes met in the café a few nights earlier and now here she stood with her hand extended out for him to take.

And why shouldn't he take it?

His mind made up, Enjolras didn't take her hand but he stood up and gave her a slight nod of his head. Éponine's entire face seemed to burst open with a smile, almost laughing, and he was momentarily paralyzed to the spot. He left the flowery words to Jean Prouvaire or to Marius or any of his other friends, really, as they seemed far more well versed when speaking of and to women.

For someone who was capable of giving powerful and passionate speeches to crowds of complete strangers and have them absolutely captivated, he was a little ashamed of himself now that he couldn't find words to speak to her. He looked at her smiling and could only think of how beautiful she was.

He still wasn't used to having such thoughts.

"Will you be warm enough?" He asked, eying the red dress and the black coat and her bare legs.

"I'm used to being cold," she then said – rather cryptically – but Enjolras wasn't sure if it was his place to ask any more questions. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her red scarf, wrapping it around her neck and tugging loose the hair that was trapped beneath it. "If you could go anywhere in the city, where would you go?" She then asked.

Enjolras supposed his mind was still trying to catch up with the evening's turn of events because he didn't know what to answer.

He resigned himself to just shrugging.

She smiled and taking his hand in hers, and him, for some reason, being unable to pull himself away, she began leading him towards the doors.

"Are you hungry?" She asked him.

He thought for a moment. "Yes," he nodded.

Outside, it was almost bitterly cold, the wind swirling and the air smelled of snow. He almost asked again if she was cold but he didn't. His eyes glanced down to her bare legs.

"Have you ever eaten from a food truck?" She asked, letting go of his hand to put both of hers in the pockets of her coat.

Enjolras did the same with his and he silently shook his head.

Éponine smiled so widely at him, he almost felt nervous. He had no idea what that smile on her face meant.

"You are going to be in for such a treat," she told him. "And that's where our night will start. The one I want to take you to, it's by the Eiffel Tower right now. Are you okay with walking? I don't have a car."

He nearly told her that he had one parked in the garage beneath his apartment building but something stopped him. There was something about walking through a dark Paris with her – despite the cold – that appealed to him. Another thing he decided not to question.

"Walking will be fine," he nodded. "Are you sure you don't have to go back to the gallery?" He asked as they took their first steps down the sidewalk away from the café.

Éponine smiled at him again – this one smaller and it was almost the shy smile from earlier. He couldn't imagine her to ever be shy.

"I'm exactly where I want to be," she replied.

Enjolras blinked at her because it wasn't exactly an answer to his question but deep down, he was willing to actually admit to himself that he was quite pleased with her response.

…

* * *

_The book Enjolras is reading is "The Street of Crocodiles and Other Stories" by Bruno Schulz._

_Thank you to everyone who is reading and commenting. It means so much to me! I hope you are looking forward to reading more of their night together!_


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